


Life Is The Flower (For Which Love Is the Honey)

by bafflinghaze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Beekeeping, Bees, Cat, Charity Worker Harry Potter, Dating, Farmer Draco Malfoy, Flirting, Fluff, H/D Pet Fair 2016, Harry Potter Cooks, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Paparazzi, Post-Hogwarts, Press and Tabloids, Romance, Slice of Life, Slow Build, farm animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8221258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bafflinghaze/pseuds/bafflinghaze
Summary: The Malfoy Manor lands are lush and verdant. Bees hover over carpets of flowers, and ducks paddle in the pond. It is a place far removed from bustling London and pesky reporters; it is a place where Harry finds what—and who—he didn’t know he was missing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote by Victor Hugo. Many thanks to shllybkwrm, who betaed this work.
> 
> For [Prompt #100](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Td1Xj4ZNIqFDdQLtMpkOWEqn2hI5TEx8tEtrEU1u1U8/edit).

Harry grimaced at the people following him down the street. He quickened his pace, took a sharp turn, and slipped into a small honey store.

Luna was adjusting her bee-themed decorations around the store when Harry entered. She smiled at him exasperatedly and locked the door.

“Harry, you could have used the Floo at the back,” she chided gently, even as she led him to the main counter.

“You know I don’t like special treatment,” Harry grumbled. In fact, he _hated_ the celebrity treatment, and the public’s attention on him had gotten successively worse. He dragged his gaze up from his scuffling feet to the shop counter.

Luna’s shop counter held many little bottles of honey, miniature versions of the honey jars that lined the shelves behind the counter and around the shop. The shape and form and colour of every bottle was different: some were skinny, some squat; some were simple, and some were fancy enough to look like perfume bottles. Luna had arranged them so that the colours transitioned from the lightest cream to the deepest red-brown.

Harry pursed his lips and examined the motley row. It grew every time he visited.

Luna smiled, skipping her hand lightly along the row of jars. Almost idly, her hand stopped on one of the jars and took it out of its place in the row. “I think you’ll like this one,” she said, untwisting its cap.

“Yeah?” Harry took one of the little single-use spoons and dipped it into the jar. He wiped the excess off on the inside of the jar, quickly popped the spoon in his mouth and—

—And it was like _heaven_. It was smooth, it was light in both taste and colour, it was sweet with an elusive hint of apples. “Merlin, _yes_.”

Luna grinned at him, eyes crinkling. “I’ll get you a jar.”

Harry nodded, sucking off the last of the honey on the spoon.

Luna placed the small jar back in its place on the counter, and retrieved a larger version of the jar from the back display. “Here you go,” Luna said, “and _no_ , Harry, don’t try to pay me!”

“I am,” Harry said stubbornly, laying a couple of Galleons on the counter. “This isn’t a charity. I want to support your shop and the bee-keepers and the bees. Keep the change.”

Luna shook her head, but she was smiling. “Oh, Harry.” Nonetheless, she slipped the coins into the till.

Harry picked up the jar. It was a plain jar, made of clear plastic and a white lid. On the lid, were the words _Apple Blossom_ , as though an afterthought. “Luna, did you say who made this? There’s no name at all, and the _product_ design...” Harry made a disgusted noise.

Luna laughed. “Draco made it. It’s one of his new apple blossom honeys.”

Harry blinked. “Can you—can you repeat that? Who, again?”

“Draco. It’s one of his best.” Luna blinked back at Harry. “It’s one of the best apple blossom honeys ever, really.”

“I...only know one person named Draco,” Harry said slowly.

“So do I!” Luna replied brightly.

“And it’s Draco Malfoy.”

Luna’s smile brightened. “Yes. We both know him.”

Harry looked at the jar of honey again. Suddenly, he didn’t know if he wanted the honey anymore. The fading memory of its taste was just that—a fading memory. But _Malfoy_ was not a fading memory.

“Are you sure _he_ made this?” Harry insisted. “He’s the bee-keeper? He still lives in that big house of his, doesn’t he?”

“Of course.” Luna tilted her head at Harry, as though she couldn’t understand why Harry couldn’t understand. “The Manor is usually open for visitors throughout the week,” she continued. “It’s quite easy to pop in and meet him.”

Harry lifted his chin. “Who said anything about _meeting_ him.”

Luna smiled knowingly. “Just in case. I’m having dinner with Draco next Monday. Do you want to come?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Harry said quickly, taking a step back and tightening his grip on the honey jar. “Thank you, Luna. I’ll see you again soon.”

Luna smiled brightly and waved. Harry smiled back, and braced himself to return to the clogged streets of wizarding London.

:::

The honey jar sat in the centre of the kitchen counter, where Harry had meticulously placed it hours previous. It was so _plain_ and _unassuming_. To think that _Malfoy_ had touched this jar, had touched the honey inside...

After much agonising indecision, Harry finally opened the jar to have another taste. It was just as surprisingly heavenly as his first taste.

But Harry found it difficult to reconcile the taste, the honey, with _Malfoy_. Maybe Luna had only answered on a technicality. That maybe, sure, Malfoy may still live in the building ostentatiously named Malfoy Manor, but that didn’t mean Malfoy was a _bee-keeper_. Malfoy was probably just someone who hired actual bee-keepers to make the honey.

With great effort, Harry forced himself to close the jar lid. He didn’t want to have another taste until he knew without a doubt what role Malfoy played in the honey process.

:::

On the next morning, a Sunday, Harry apparated over to Malfoy Manor. The need to _know_ weighed heavily on his mind, and he felt that waiting one day since purchasing the honey was more than long enough.

Malfoy Manor—or at least, the Malfoy property in Wiltshire—was in the exact place Harry expected it to be. The property was surrounded by high walls, stretching out as far as Harry could see. The big, large, ornate metal gates were closed, but Harry spotted a small side entrance whose little gate was open.

Harry glanced around, before stepping over to the little gate.

There was a sign, saying, _Press the buzzer before entering_. The buzzer was a white square set below the sign.

Harry hadn’t _meant_ to touch it, but he did, and it lit up under his fingers with a tingle of magic. No doubt Malfoy had been alerted of his presence though: there was nothing for it, but for Harry to enter the property.

He felt the tingle of wards, but was nonetheless able to step onto the smooth white path inside the property. Harry left the gate open as he found it, before advancing forward.

The footpath ran alongside the red-paved driveway: both paths turned ahead, no doubt leading to the Manor house. But more importantly, surrounding the paths were flowers.

Heaps and _heaps_ of flowers. They were dotted across the grass, covering the bushes, filling the trees. In the far distance, Harry could make out the lines of blossoming orchards—maybe the apple blossoms. Bees hovered and danced through the landscape, and there was the slight touch of a spell dampening the sound of their buzzing. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers, so much so that Harry fancied he could taste the hint of the honeys that they made.

Harry had to grudgingly admit that this was one of the most beautiful and picturesque places he’d ever seen. It looked as though Malfoy’s honey was at least made on site.

There was someone coming down the footpath.

Harry stopped, then started forward again. The anticipation made him feel alive. Rehearsed words, questions, interrogations filled his mind.

And then Harry stumbled.

 _Draco Malfoy_.

Despite the coolness of the air, Malfoy wore only a shirt, sleeves rolled up revealing thick forearms, and top buttons open, blatantly showing the solid curve of Malfoy’s chest. And Malfoy’s blond hair that Harry had spotted was in fact pulled back into a messy bun, the soft lines all the more accentuating the sharpness of his cheekbones and jaw. Malfoy’s bulge was unmistakable in the surely too-tight-to-be-practical faded blue trousers that he wore, tucked into a pair of mud-caked boots.

Malfoy stopped a few meters away from Harry, his mouth pulling into a lazy smirk. “Potter,” he said, faintly amused.

All of Harry’s words disappeared. “M-Malfoy,” he forced out. He waited from Malfoy to say something in return, but Malfoy just gazed at him, eyes sweeping up and down in a way that made Harry aware that rather than gaining definition, Harry had lost definition since their school years.

“Your gate was open, if you didn’t know,” Harry’s mouth said. 

Malfoy’s eyes crinkled. “I do,” he said lazily.

“Right.” Harry found his own gaze wandering down Malfoy’s body. Immediately, he flushed and looked away. Looking away helped Harry remember why he was here. Harry lifted his head. “Luna said you made honey. Apple blossom honey.”

“Bees make honey.”

“I know that,” Harry said exasperatedly. He took a step forward and met Malfoy’s gaze. “Are you the bee-keeper?” 

“I am.”

“Oh. Well. Luna stocks it. You could at least put your name on it. Oh, and did I tell you that the packaging sucks? I don’t know, if not your name, at least a brand name?”

Malfoy chuckled. “Yes, I see. Are you offering to help me?”

Harry blinked. Couldn’t Malfoy at least pretend to be insulted and indignant about what Harry had said? If he was, then Harry could get over how Malfoy looked and stop feeling like a fool. “I..er...I...”

“Ah,” Malfoy said presently. “Is it that you require a refund of the honey now that you found out that I made it?”

“No!” Harry said immediately. He took a deep breath. “I liked it.” 

Malfoy smirked. “Hmm, you liked my honey.”

“Merlin, Malfoy, you make it sound like... _ugh_ ,” Harry said. 

Malfoy held a hand up. “A moment, if you please,” he said, turning around.

 _Rude_ , Harry thought, before he noticed a blur of white and black heading straight for them.

Malfoy was bracing himself, arms catching that blur that tackled him. He said soft words that Harry couldn’t catch, and a hand raised up to rub the creature behind the ears. It purred.

Malfoy turned to Harry again, still nursing the creature.

The cat turned its head to Harry and blinked large eyes at Harry, meowing. Suddenly, all that business with the honey didn’t seem to matter at all.

Harry took a few tiny steps forward and bent down a little. “Hello.”

The cat jumped off from Malfoy’s arms and padded towards Harry. Harry crouched down and when it rubbed against him, he started to pet it. The cat purred. Harry grinned, feeling warm inside.

If Harry believed in love at first sight, then this was it. Most cats stayed away from him—Harry suspected they smelt Teddy Lupin on him—even though Harry was quite partial to cats. But this cat purred and purred, and when Harry decided to sit down on the sun-warmed pavement, the cat crawled right into his lap, and Harry could just about burst with joy.

He looked up at Malfoy, smiling brightly. “What’s its name?”

Malfoy blinked. His eyes darted away for no apparent reason, and he said rather gruffly, “Her name is Calico.”

Harry looked back at Calico, giving her a firm rub and feeling her purr in response. “She’s not a calico, though.” In fact, Calico was a mostly black cat with white legs and face, not at all three coloured as her namesake.

“A muggle named her,” Malfoy said. He crouched down, and joined in with petting Calico. The purrs intensified: Harry could feel it under his palm and through his lap.

Malfoy straightened up. “She likes you.”

“Yeah, I suppose...” Harry said slowly. He was grinning though. Calico stretched her paws out and rolled onto her back. Harry rubbed the soft fur of her stomach, enchanted. He was rather disappointed when Calico rolled off his lap and went to stand by Malfoy’s side.

Inwardly sighing, Harry stood up and dusted his backside. “I should get going.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Are you in a rush? It’s quite a lovely day for a walk around the Manor.”

“I—don’t _you_ have work to get done?” 

Malfoy shrugged. “There’s always time.”

Calico meowed at him too.

“Alright,” said Harry, smiling a little at Calico. Calico turned around and started walking off.

“Come along, Potter. Calico clearly has a path in mind.”

It was a pleasant spring day. The sky was clear, the air not too hot. Malfoy remained mostly quiet, and so Harry made himself busy by looking around. Calico showed him a couple of ponds with fish in them, the white peacocks’ enclosure, and low and wide stone walls that were warm from the sun. Calico promptly jumped onto the wall and laid down.

Harry laughed and gave her a pet. “Are these your favourite spots?” Harry glanced up briefly at the sky and cast a _Tempus_. It was nearly noon.

“Let me escort you back to the gate, Potter.”

“Yeah, sorry, I do need to go.”

Calico opened her eyes and gave Harry a disappointed trill. Harry gave her a pout. “I know, I’m sorry, Calico,” he said.

“You are allowed to return to see Calico,” Malfoy drawled.

Harry perked up. “Really? That’s nice of you, Malfoy.”

Malfoy shook his head. “Calico would have my head if I don’t allow you back.”

Harry turned to Malfoy and narrowed his eyes at him. “But _you_ don’t want me back?”

Malfoy shrugged. “I wouldn’t hex you if you return.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Harry drawled back. “I really do need to get going.”

“Say goodbye to Calico, then.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but dutifully bid Calico goodbye. Malfoy led him back out to the front gate. For a moment, Harry didn’t know what to do. Malfoy easily gave him a nod; Harry nodded back, stepped out of the property and apparated away.

:::

Harry seethed and threw the _Daily Prophet_ back on the table in disgust.

The day before had been the War Orphan’s charity bake sale; Harry had made large batches of lemon-honey cupcakes. He had been out there, selling the cupcakes himself and urging people to make donations. There had been reporters milling about, and Harry made extra sure that they knew what the event was about.

But instead of writing about the war orphans and others affected by the War, the _Prophet_ just talked about him, _again_.

He knew that people bought his cupcakes because _Harry Potter_ had made them, regardless of the exorbitant price he charged. The bake sale had gone well, financially.

That the damned paper focused on _him_ instead of the war orphans and those affected by the War was a smack of disrespect in Harry’s face. He was definitely going to talk to Hermione and the other volunteers about his ‘necessary’ presence at the charity’s various events.

With one last sigh of frustration, Harry ignored the _Prophet_ and focused on his breakfast instead. He lathered the last of the honey onto his toast. Once the flavour of the honey spread across his tongue, it wasn’t so hard to forget about the papers.

The apple-hinted sweetness of the honey never failed to remind Harry of picturesque grounds, the flowering scent in the air, and Calico purring in his lap. He was also reminded of Malfoy, but given the _other_ feelings that arose, Harry ignored those particular memories.

Now that his honey jar was empty, though, Malfoy’s offer—or rather, Calico’s—to visit again came back to mind. Harry could visit Luna’s shop to buy some more honey, but even the _thought_ of the Sunday crowds made him feel a mixture of queasy and angry. Seeing himself in the newspapers made him want to stay well away from the public.

The idea was becoming more and more appealing: there was no _public_ at Malfoy Manor. And despite how nice Luna’s shop was, it couldn’t compare to the Manor grounds. And Harry _did_ miss Calico...

When Harry apparated outside Malfoy Manor, the small side gate was open, but so was one of the main gates. Curious, Harry entered through the main gate, spotting a muggle pick-up truck parked on the driveway further in. Two people—one of them Malfoy—were speaking.

By the time Harry got closer, the unidentified person had climbed back into the truck, an arm sticking out the window to wave at Malfoy. Harry quickly moved onto the footpath as the truck headed out.

Calico, who had been by Malfoy’s side, quickly bounded over to Harry. Harry grinned, crouching down to meet her. She licked his face, and he giggled. “Hey, Calico, how have you been?” Harry fussed over her, scratching her behind the ears and petting down her back.

Malfoy’s shadow cast across the pavement, reminding Harry to look up. Malfoy was bloody tall, so Harry stood.

“What timing you have,” Malfoy drawled. “Have you come to see Calico again?”

“I actually wanted to buy some honey,” Harry said, a bit of defensiveness in his tone. “I’ve used mine all up.”

“Ah.” Malfoy looked behind Harry. Harry also looked behind himself: the large gate was closing. “I have just sold all my honey.”

Harry’s eyebrows both went up. “To the Muggle, just then?”

“Quite so.”

“Oh.” Harry’s stomach dropped and an embarrassed flush spread across his face. He should have gone to Luna’s after all. Harry was confused when Malfoy smirked.

“Potter, don’t make such a down face,” he said. “We’ll go collect more honey right now. Apple blossom, I believe?”

“Yeah...really?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Are you coming along?” he said, starting to turn away, and Calico trotting to his side.

“Fine, yes,” Harry groaned, stepping forward.

Harry followed Malfoy deeper into the property. They passed a number of hives, standing like little houses amongst the flowers, but Malfoy continued on. Soon, they were amongst the white and pink blossoming apple trees. Malfoy ducked into a small building and emerged with an empty frame—a wooden rectangle with a foundation screen in the centre—and a bucket.

“So, Potter, what do you know about collecting honey?”

“Well, Malfoy,” Harry replied in the same tone, “I know that bees collect nectar from flowers, and that through a process of chewing and digesting of some kind, it becomes honey. It’s like regurgitated bee vomit.”

“How vivid,” Malfoy drawled. He went along the hives, touching the top of one hive, and then another. “How much regurgitated bee vomit would you like, Potter?”

Harry went closer to Malfoy. “I usually buy a kilo, but more than that’s fine.”

“Not scared of bees?”

“No, of course not,” Harry said. “As long as I don’t provoke them, they don’t provoke me,” he retorted.

Malfoy smirked. “You must have been a bee whisperer in your past life. Hold these.” Malfoy handed Harry the bucket and the frame.

Then, Malfoy drew his wand out. Smoke issued from the tip, swirling into the hive. Bees started flying out, and more flew out when Malfoy used one hand to take off the roof of the hive.

Harry leaned forward, watching as Malfoy withdrew one full frame from the hive. There were a few bees still crawling across the surface, but Malfoy’s wand gently swept them away.

“Bucket, Potter.”

Harry started, and held the bucket forward; Malfoy dropped the frame inside, and took the empty one from Harry’s other hand. Malfoy put the empty frame back inside the hive, closed the roof, and vanished the smoke.

Harry lifted the bucket up. The frame was all covered in pale-yellow honeycomb. “What now?”

“So impatient, Potter,” Malfoy said. He didn’t answer Harry though, instead heading back into that building where he’d gotten the bucket.

Harry sighed loudly and followed him into the building.

Malfoy opened the door and when Harry entered, he discovered that the building was really only one room. There was a long table to the side, a large sink, implements, and a shelf containing some of the plain jars.

“So plain and boring for someone like you, Malfoy,” said Harry, smirking.

Malfoy reached over to take the bucket and the frame. “Careful I don’t spit into the jar, Potter.” He moved the frame onto a tray.

“You wouldn’t. That would endanger your professional integrity.”

Malfoy summoned a rather large knife, and he smirked back at Harry. “What large words you’ve learnt, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes and moved over to the side as Malfoy moved the blade down. The knife shimmered with heat, and when Malfoy sliced it across the surface of the frame, the pale wax cappings came right off, falling onto the tray below. Malfoy repeated it on the other side.

Harry quickly popped a small piece of wax and honey into his mouth. It didn’t taste very nice at all. “What do you with this?”

“It’s wax from bees, Potter. What do you imagine?”

“Merlin, Malfoy, if you just said beeswax then it’ll go much quicker.”

Malfoy regarded Harry. “I’m not in a hurry. Are you?”

“If you work so slowly, how do you even make enough money?”

“And where would I spend that money? Diagon Alley?” Malfoy scoffed. He put down his knife and drew out his wand again.

“Well—” Harry shut his mouth when Malfoy started making slow, deliberate movements, literally coaxing the honey out of the cells and into another container with a straining cloth spread across it. There was a small tap at the bottom of the container, and a small platform behind that.

“Fetch me a jar,” Malfoy muttered.

 _Fetch me a jar_ , Harry mimicked under his breath. He quickly retrieved a jar, though, and as Malfoy directed him, opened the jar and placed it on the platform beneath the tap. When Harry turned the tap open...out came honey, smooth, viscous, and golden.

The way the honey just poured out, folding and merging with the honey in the jar below it...one jar was completely filled, and a second set under the tap. Malfoy deftly closed the first jar, and wrote _Apple-Blossom_ on the lid, and handed it to Harry.

Harry held it in his hands. It was pleasantly warm, surprisingly so.

“So amazing that you’ve been rendered speechless?” Malfoy drawled, leaning against the table.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, unamused, “you are clearly so jaded that you cannot appreciated the utter awesomeness of nature that has led to this jar of beautiful, beautiful honey.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows went up. “You’ve become a poet, Potter. A trashy one at that. Do you sing alongside Celestina Warbeck?”

Harry tucked the honey jar in his arm. “Why, thank you for the compliment, Malfoy. How much for the jar?”

“Take the other one too.” Malfoy thumped the container, and a large glop of honey came out.

“How _much_?” Harry repeated. 

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair. “Taking money from you is like taking a chocolate frog from a baby.”

“ _Malfoy!_ ” Harry purposely nudged him with his shoulder. “Here—” Harry took out a couple of galleons, more than what he gave Luna, “—take it, you bastard.” 

Malfoy idly took the coins, but he couldn’t do so without comment. “I’ll have you know that my parents were very much married by the time I was conceived.”

“You’re welcome, Malfoy.” Harry smiled insincerely. 

“If you were this funny back in Hogwarts, we might have been friends,” said Malfoy. He closed the tap on the second jar, screwed the lid on and wrote on it.

Harry took the jar, rolling his eyes when he read it: _Apple-Blossom, Made by Malfoy_. “If you weren’t such a prat back in Hogwarts, we might have been friends.”

“Touché, Potter.” Malfoy ushered Harry out of the room. Calico was waiting for them outside, and she immediately stopped in front of Harry. 

Malfoy patted Harry on the shoulder. “Looks like Calico wants to show you something. If she offers you a dead animal, _do not_ accept it.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at Malfoy. Malfoy raised an unimpressed eyebrow in response. Harry rolled his eyes.

Calico made a low rumbling sound, so Harry quickly shrunk the jars of honey and tucked them away.

“All right Calico, lead the way.”

Harry followed Calico, not once looking back at Malfoy.

Calico led Harry off the paved paths, onto worn dirt tracks, through flowers and bees and trees. The land rose and fell gently, and it was cresting one such hill that Harry spotted the shimmering reflection of the sky.

It was a _big_ pond, with a creek that snaked away, and it looked absurdly idyllic, just like the rest of Malfoy Manor. On the opposite side of the pond, over the white stone and wooden-railing bridge were some stone benches and tables; a white gazebo sat further back, with the white paved path winding past the gazebo and into the trees and bushes.

There were ducks on the pond, and Harry was not surprised when Calico made a running leap right into the centre of the ducks’ meeting.

The ducks flapped their wings and half-heartedly squawked. One of them pecked Calico’s head when she resurfaced, but mostly they indignantly re-congregated to a different section of the pond.

Calico swam out of the pond and meowed at Harry’s feet, looking wet and dejected. Harry crouched down.

“You did that yourself,” he grinned. Her wide, innocent eyes did him in though, and he pulled out his wand and dried her off.

Satisfied, Calico wandered to a sunny patch of grass and laid down, stretching out. Harry followed suit, resting his head on his arms.

The sun was warm; the air heavy with the intoxicating scent of sweetness, with the low buzzing of far-away bees and the soft honking of the ducks. It was far removed from the lonely silence of Grimmauld Place, or the over-excitability of the Burrow.

Harry turned his head to look at Calico, giving into the urge to pet her. “I could really love this place.”

Calico purred, and Harry huffed a laugh.

:::

Harry startled awake when Calico stomped all over his chest. A shadow fell upon him: Malfoy. Harry groaned and covered his eyes with his arm.

“Lunch time,” said Malfoy brightly.

Harry groaned again. “I should go now.”

“You are welcome to join me, or Calico if you prefer, for lunch. Note that Calico quite likes raw fish.”

Harry removed his arm and looked up at Malfoy. “I am joining you or joining Calico?”

Malfoy stepped back, out of Harry’s view. Harry groaned again as the light hit his eyes.

“Either. Both. None.”

Harry groaned and pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Fuck, I actually have a lunch with my friends today.”

Malfoy grasped Harry’s arm and helped him stand up. “Then you may be late, unless you are going to go like _that_.”

“I like my clothes,” said Harry. “This is the second time, isn’t it? How about lunch on Thursday instead?”

“Potter, if you are busy on Sundays then why are you lazing about here?” Malfoy removed his warm hand from Harry’s arm.

“Yes? No? Thursday?” Harry pressed.

Malfoy scoffed. “Sure. I usually eat lunch on Thursdays.”

“Good.” Harry extended his hand. Malfoy’s hand was more slow in coming, just like the slow rise of his damnable eyebrow, so Harry crossed the last gap and grasped Malfoy’s hand firmly. “It’s a date—fuck, I mean, I’ll keep the date in _mind_.” 

Malfoy’s hand tightened, warm and a little callused. “Yes.”

Harry didn’t want to let go first; neither did Malfoy apparently. His grip was warm and firm. Harry felt if he just tugged a little, he could pull Malfoy in closer...

“Late yet, Potter?” Malfoy murmured.

Harry quickly dropped his hand and cast a _Tempus_. “Shit, yeah.”

Malfoy placed a hand on the small of Harry’s back and started to push him along the path. “Well, come along. Can’t have you delivered late to your next appointment, and deprive the masses of your presence.”

“ _Hey!_ ” 

Malfoy chuckled. At the gate, Malfoy put in one last word, “Keep that _date_ in mind, Potter.”

“You’d better do your best to woo me,” Harry shot back, and apparated away to Malfoy’s surprised face. It was Harry who was chuckling at the end of _that_.

:::

After his lunch with Ron and Hermione, Harry decided to make something else for the dinner at the Burrow that evening. Ron had gone to laze in front of Harry’s muggle telly, and Hermione stayed in the kitchen, watching Harry make honey joys.

Harry melted the (mouth-watering, sweet, beautiful) honey with sugar and butter in a large saucepan. Hermione set out the colourful cupcake cups on the tray, as Harry added cornflakes to his mixture.

“It’s been a long time since I had these—it must have been at a birthday party in primary school,” Hermione mused.

“I’ve never had these before,” Harry admitted.

Hermione smiled, watching him spoon the lovely golden concoction into the little cupcake pans. “Then what prompted you?” she asked.

“They looked easy enough to make,” Harry grinned wryly, picking up a honey jar. “And I _really_ like this honey.” 

Hermione laughed. “Been spending time in Luna’s shop?”

Harry busied himself by washing his hands. “Yes, but I’ve actually been to the source. Of the honey.” He put the tray into the oven.

“Oh? Where? Is it Muggle? Wizarding?”

“It’s wizarding,” said Harry. He peered through the glass of the oven door. The honey joys weren’t meant to stay in for long.

Hermione swiped her finger across the spatula and licked it. “It’s really nice honey. Is it anyone I know?”

“Yeah.”

“And they are...?”

Harry squinted at the honey joys in the oven. “Oh, you know Malfoy.”

“Malfoy?” Hermione spluttered. “You _willingly_ went to _Malfoy_ and bought his _honey_?” Hermione immediately started washing her hands. “Is he still a blood purist? I can’t imagine otherwise. Did he insult you? I haven’t seen him around wizarding Britain _at all_.”

“Luna sells the honey he makes. And he sells it to muggles, too.” Harry’s jaw jutted out stubbornly. “I don’t know, alright? It’s not like I can directly _ask_ him something like that.”

“You _can_ , Harry. If he’s not, then he’ll definitely admit it. I don’t want—I don’t want to knowingly and willingly support people _like that_ , Harry.” Hermione pursed her lips. “For goodness’ sake, we work for a charity supporting the victims of those people!”

Harry sighed. “Yeah, I suppose.” He looked away and sighed again. Malfoy seemed nice enough, but then so did Tom Riddle in his younger years.

“It’s just frustrating how nice the honey tastes, though,” Hermione tried to joke.

Harry smiled weakly. “Yeah, it’s not as though the bees care who Malfoy is. I’m going to take the honey joys out—you don’t have to eat any.”

Harry turned off the heat and opened the oven door. The honey joys were a dark gold, and the smell—Harry breathed in deeply—as sweet and crispy and _good_. Harry popped the tray on top of the stove and levitated the cupcakes over to the drying rack.

That warm, sweet smell permeated the air. Harry couldn’t wait to properly taste them, and Hermione was biting her lip and eyeing them too.

“He collects and harvests the honey himself,” Harry murmured. “I’ve only ever seen him, Calico, and one muggle there.”

“Calico?”

“His black and white cat.”

Hermione frowned. “Calicos have three colours though.”

Harry laughed a little. “That’s what I thought. But apparently Malfoy didn’t name her. This one jar of honey—is it that much worse than some big-chain supermarket honey with exploitation all through the process?”

Hermione sighed. “I suppose not.”

“Suppose what?” Ron had wandered in, led by his nose. “What are _those_?”

“Honey joys,” Harry said brightly. He gingerly touched a cupcake, but it was still very warm. “You’re supposed to wait for them to cool first. Completely.”

“Uh-huh,” said Ron, eyeing them very closely.

“ _And_ these are really meant for the Burrow,” said Harry, moving to the side to head Ron off.

“Since I’ll be at the Burrow too, I may as well eat some now. Anyway, shouldn’t I—I mean _we—_ test some before you take them to the Burrow?” said Ron.

Harry stared at Ron. “Good point. Let’s all have one. Hermione?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Alright, _one_.”

They each took one honey joy, and on a silent count of three, they bit into it—or stuffed it in their mouth, in Ron’s case.

The sweetness burst across Harry’s tongue once he’d gotten through the very satisfying crunch of the cornflakes. In a few quick bites, and it was gone. Harry licked his lips.

Ron was immediately starting to eye the honey joys again. With a smirk, Harry levitated them right out from beneath Ron’s fingers into a bunch of plastic containers.

“You’re such an arse,” Ron muttered.

“I didn’t know you thought about my arse that much,” Harry quipped.

Ron grinned back. “You don’t mind, do you, Hermione?”

Hermione smiled and shook her head.

Harry stacked the boxes. “All right, let’s go to the Burrow then.”

“If we go this early, we’ll be helping Mum cook,” Ron warned.

Harry grinned at Ron. “All the better to keep you busy and away from these honey joys.”

Ron sighed gustily. “It’s not as though you can’t make more. You’ve heaps more honey. I’ll just pop down to the muggle store and get some of that cereal, yeah?”

“Why, thank you, Ron, for your first time offer,” said Harry, walking into the lounge room where the Floo was.

“They’re just so _small_ ,” Ron whined. “Why don’t you use muffin tins instead? With those tiny honey things, they’re gone in a flash!”

Harry handed Ron one of the containers, and pushed him towards the Floo. “Off you go.”

Ron sighed gustily again, and stepped through to the Burrow.

Harry turned to Hermione. “Coming?”

Hermione looked serious. “I trust your judgement. If you think this is fine then...I’ll do my best to be fine with it, too.”

“Thank you,” said Harry, nodding slightly. “I don’t want my honey joys to bring you sadness.”

Hermione touched Harry lightly on the arm, and then she stepped through to the Burrow first, followed by Harry.

:::

It was Thursday, Harry’s lunch not-date with Malfoy. The box with the honey-peach cake was warm in Harry’s hands as he stepped through the small open side gate of Malfoy Manor.

He spotted Malfoy immediately, a figure amongst the flowers. After taking a deep breath, and wiping his hands alternately on his trousers, Harry called out to Malfoy.

Malfoy walked over to him. He had two large buckets in each hand, both filled with frames from the hives. They looked heavy, but Malfoy carried them with ease. “Potter. You have something for _me_? I’m delighted.”

Harry held the cake box up a little higher. “Oh, it’s nothing. I hope you’re not sick of eating your own honey because...yeah.”

“I’d love to eat anything _you_ made,” Malfoy smirked. “Go put that on the kitchen counter—lunch is set in the back garden. Just right up the driveway, a simple enough direction to follow even for you.”

“Yes, Malfoy,” Harry said exasperatedly. “Where’s Calico?”

“She’s in the back garden last I checked—isn’t that an incentive for you to get going?”

“It is,” Harry admitted. “I’m off then.”

As Malfoy said, it was easy to follow the footpath alongside the driveway, up to Malfoy Manor. The door opened on Harry’s touch, and on a lucky guess walking through the building, Harry found the kitchen (or _a_ kitchen, perhaps) that looked like it was in use. There were rows and rows of pots and pans and lids of all different types. Harry peeked inside the drawers: there were more implements than all the telly infomercials Harry had ever seen. The kitchen felt like it would be a dream for an amateur chef.

Regretfully, Harry re-cast the cooling charm on the cake and left the kitchen. He took another lucky guess down the corridor to head out to the back garden.

Harry’s eyebrows shot right up when he saw the large pool with a dragon head gushing out water. The pool was surrounded by wooden flooring, and further ringed by the familiar white pavement. Behind that were gardens of roses and flowers, and above those, the tops of various sculptures. But he couldn’t see anything that would resemble a lunch setting, and somehow, Harry didn’t trust his luck to get him to the right location the third time round.

“You can have a dip in the pool _after_ lunch!” Malfoy called out. He emerged from somewhere on the side, buckets gone, and with more of the top buttons of his shirt undone.

“You just want an excuse to see me topless, don’t you?” Harry retorted brazenly. It caught Malfoy aback just a bit, before Malfoy leered.

“Mmm, that would be edible.”

“Yeah, I sure hope your lunch is edible, too,” said Harry.

“I resent the implication,” Malfoy said. He led them into the rose garden. There was a table and chairs, and a slight cooling charm around it. There were dishes on the table under a slight haze of a spell. On a tiny raised platform off the ground next to the table were dishes for Calico.

Calico herself was curled up on one of the chairs in the sun. She got up at the sound of them, giving a greeting meow. Harry greeted her back.

Harry sat down opposite Malfoy. Lunch turned out to be a hodge-podge of sandwiches, chips, sausages and fruit.

“You weren’t a chef in your past life,” said Harry.

“I know what a good meal _looks_ like,” Malfoy retorted. “I simply cannot _cook_ it. No doubt you can.”

“I probably could,” Harry boasted.

“Well, _next_ time, you can come over here early and cook me lunch,” Malfoy replied easily. “You have all the ingredients on the property at your disposable, and I’m sure you can do a nearby apparition to the local supermarkets.”

“What happened to all your house elves then?”

Malfoy froze. After a beat too long, he started to move again. “The War and Hermione Granger, I believe.”

Harry’s heart pounded when he glanced down at Malfoy’s arm—with the heat and hard work, Harry realised that Malfoy had pushed his sleeves up—and Harry caught a glimpse of the faded Dark Mark.

Malfoy followed his gaze down—and went still. “Yes?”

“Hermione wanted me to ask you if—” Harry faltered. Malfoy was a _friend_ now, wasn’t he? But if Harry couldn’t ask a friend such a question...

“Is it something _you_ want to ask me?” Malfoy said lowly.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “But I think I do want the answer.”

“Then ask away.” Malfoy made a deliberate shrug.

“I don’t know how to word it nicely...”

Malfoy scoffed. “Spare me the suspense.”

Harry wiped his hands on his trousers. “Hermione wanted to know...if you still believe in what you did back in Hogwarts. If you’re still a blood purist.”

Harry could not believe it possible, but Malfoy’s entire frame stilled further. Harry couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the Dark Mark. The silence extended.

“Malf—”

“I’m trying,” Malfoy finally said. “I _can’t_ believe in it, given that past, given my present.”

“But in your hearts of hearts...” Harry looked at Malfoy uncertainly.

Malfoy leaned back, his shoulders falsely relaxing. “I’m a gay Death Eater,” he said, tone light. “So the pure bloods don’t want me, and the wizarding populace don’t want me around either. Being a blood purist or not matters nothing to me, working around the Manor.” Malfoy tilted his head slightly. “Is there anything more?”

“Malfoy, I just...want you to say that you _aren’t_ a blood purist. It’s not that _hard!_ ”

“Apologies, then, Potter. That would be a lie. I might say such things. Perhaps it is luck that you haven’t heard me say anything yet. I would apologise for my past, but that doesn’t change that it happened.” Malfoy set his knife and fork down gently and stood up. “Keep Calico company, will you?” Malfoy patted Calico’s head and left Harry speechless as he walked away, deep into the gardens.

Harry dropped his own knife and fork with a clatter. “I think you’ve changed a bit,” he mumbled under this breath.

Neither of them had finished eating lunch, but now the food on the table looked unappetising. Then, very slowly, Harry turned to Calico.

“Calico...Calico, you can smell Malfoy, can’t you?”

Calico chirped.

Harry gave her a stern look. “Can you take me to Malfoy? Can you find him for me?”

Calico chirped again and leapt down from the table. She set off, and Harry trotted behind her, stomach churning as he tried to construct a good response to Malfoy’s words.

Malfoy was bent over, knee deep in a long garden of herbs. Harry was surprised how quickly Malfoy had gotten to work—he was wearing gloves over his large hands and was digging into the garden and uprooting weeds.

Harry came to stop, although Calico continued forward and trilled at Malfoy.

“Calico—” Malfoy glanced up and met Harry’s eyes. With a grunt, Malfoy stood up. “Potter, I’m surprised you’re still here.”

Words clamoured for Harry to say them. “You didn’t have to storm off and sulk,” Harry blurted out instead.

Malfoy’s lower lip pushed up into a bloody _pout_. “I resent the implication that I’m _sulking_.”

“And look, Malfoy,” Harry continued brusquely, especially as Malfoy’s pout deepened, “I don’t think you’re not good. It’s good that you’re trying. I’m not expecting you to be _perfect_.” Harry gave Malfoy a serious look. He wasn’t going to laugh at Malfoy’s antics.

Malfoy sighed and took off his gloves. “Spare me. I’ll reimburse you the money you paid for the honey.”

“Merlin, no!”

“It’s yours,” Malfoy said, shrugging. He tucked his gloves into a back pocket.

Harry folded his arms. “I won’t accept it back. As I said, I _like_ your honey. I paid for it, fair and square.”

“Well then, you work for the War Orphans, don’t you? I’ll merely donate it there.”

Harry blinked. He scuffled his feet uncertainly. “I won’t stop you, but remember that it’s not a refund. I don’t _want_ a refund. In fact...” Harry eyed the herbs all around them. He could smell them, the sharp scent of the mint and the strong aromatic rosemary. “I want to buy some herbs from you. If they’re for sale.”

Malfoy stepped out of the herb garden, and waved a hand across them. “Have them, Potter.”

Harry scowled. “You and Luna must have terrible business models if you keep giving me stuff for free. It’ll make me feel better if you just let me _pay_. I did bring some coins.”

Malfoy gave an elaborate bow. “If it pleases you. Shall I offer you my assistance?”

Harry slapped Malfoy on the shoulder. “Don’t do that, you bloody prat. I can pick herbs myself, I think.”

Malfoy summoned a plastic bag, and let Harry do the rest. Harry had to restrain himself from picking too much—they just never smelt or tasted the same after a preservation charm.

And after all, it wouldn’t be hard for Harry to return to Malfoy Manor and pick some more, would it?

“How much is it?” Harry asked once he’d finished.

Malfoy barely glanced at the bag. “Five sickles sounds about right.”

“I thought you’d be more precise about everything,” Harry said, but he decided he’d better hand over the amount Malfoy actually said. “And I’m sorry...about ruining our lunch.”

“For goodness sakes, Potter, stop being so bloody good. Clearly it was _me_ who ruined the lunch.” Malfoy shook his head, and sighed, as though it was Harry being difficult.

“Does you offer still stand?” Harry pressed. “Next Thursday, I’ll come early and prepare something?”

“Potter, Potter, Potter,” Malfoy muttered. “You never know when to give up.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Done me well so far.”

“It has,” Malfoy conceded. “And I will be pleasantly surprised if you do return next Thursday.”

Harry smirked. “Then surprised you’ll be. Don’t have a heart attack, alright? You are older than me, after all.”

Malfoy frowned. “Only by a few months—how do you know that?”

“How do _you_ know that?”

They stared at each other. Harry cleared his throat; so did Malfoy.

“Let me escort you out,” Malfoy finally said.

Harry stepped aside. “Lead the way, Mr Malfoy.”

It felt like a really short trip to the gates—Harry wouldn’t be surprised if there was some magic involved. At the gate, Malfoy leaned against the wall, asking idly, “What are you planning to make next week?”

“Bloody hell, Malfoy, I haven’t planned anything yet,” Harry rolled his eyes. “See ya, Malfoy.” Harry gave Malfoy a jaunty wave and disapparated.

:::

“Oh Merlin, Harry,” Ginny said. “These smell _so_ good!” She picked up a mint leaf and ate it by itself.

Harry was at home—Grimmauld Place—and was hosting dinner, with Ginny, Luna, Hermione and Ron. All of them couples, except him.

Harry glanced guiltily at Hermione, and tried to ignore Luna’s gaze. “Oh, they’re fresh from a farm in Wiltshire.”

“Wiltshire?” Hermione said, eyebrows rising.

“From Draco Malfoy’s farm,” Harry replied, raising his own eyebrows in return.

“Really?” Luna asked curiously. “Did you pick them straight from the garden earlier today?”

Harry inwardly sighed with relief. “The day before, actually. That’s why they smell and taste so good—why the food tastes so good. I’m not _really_ a good cook.”

Ginny leaned forward. “I knew he made honey, but this too? Luna, why didn’t you say?”

Luna smiled. “Neither of us can cook. It would be a waste of Draco’s effort growing them.”

Ginny pouted. “If what Harry says is true, it’ll make our attempts taste a lot better.”

Luna tilted her head against Ginny’s shoulder and laughed.

“Malfoy, heh?” said Ron. He chewed on a mint leaf thoughtfully. “I can’t believe that git can grow stuff. Isn’t that Neville’s field?”

“Neville prefers purely _magical_ plants,” Luna said.

“Huh.” Ron shrugged.

“I mean, I don’t think Malfoy’ll mind if you go visit, if he doesn’t mind me. He’s really changed.” Harry glanced at Hermione, who gave him a tiny nod and encouraging smile. “The place is really beautiful.” Harry brightened up. “Oh yeah, Calico! She’s Malfoy’s cat, and sort of, you know, the absolute _best_. You _have_ to meet her.”

Ginny perked up. “Cat? Malfoy has a _cat_?”

“I see him for dinner every Monday,” Luna reminded Ginny. “You’re welcome to come along and meet her.” Luna gave Harry a look he couldn’t understand. “Draco cooks better than either of us, though he doesn’t compare to our Harry.”

Harry blushed. “I can’t cook that well,” he mumbled. “It’s all in the ingredients, not _me_.”

Ginny laughed. “Oh Merlin, look at him blush! You’re a badass cook, Harry!”

Chuckles went round the table, as Harry blushed even more, and the topic changed.

:::

There was an anonymous donation to the War Orphans fund, and quite a bit more than Harry had paid for Malfoy’s honey. But Harry’s intuition was that it was Malfoy’s donation: mostly because the attached note was insulting. Harry rolled his eyes and recorded down the amount into the fund’s books.

:::

Mid Thursday morning, as promised—he couldn’t back down now—Harry went to Malfoy Manor. He’d brought with him some ingredients, and was looking forward to getting Malfoy to fetch him some fresh ingredients all around the Manor.

That Malfoy didn’t greet him made Harry a little bit uncertain, but the front doors of Malfoy Manor opened automatically for him, and the lights in the kitchen were all on. Harry was unpacking the things he’d bought, and was taking out pots and pans he thought he’d need, when Malfoy finally appeared with Calico in tow.

“Calico! And Malfoy,” Harry greeted. He patted Calico and gave her a hug.

“What are you planning to make?” Malfoy asked.

Harry leaned against the counter. “Had your heart attack yet?” Harry rummaged through his pocket and produced a list. “I need you to go fetch these for me.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows lifted as he took the scrap of parchment. “I’m not your errand boy, Potter.”

Harry smirked. “If you want lunch, you’ll do it.” Harry waved him away. “Go on, get to it.”

Malfoy tossed his head, and turned, calling Calico to him. “It better be worth it,” he said over his shoulder.

“It will be, errand boy!” Harry grinned and got down to work.

Cooking was something that Harry, as an adult, loved to do. He may have worked at the War Orphan’s charity, but Harry did it for free—he wasn’t one of the paid workers and mostly dropped in and out as he pleased.

Thus, he didn’t work long hours, and it gave him time to, for example, visit Malfoy during a week-day. And it gave him time to _cook_ , and to do it without pressure, and to enjoy doing it.

That Malfoy’s kitchen was well stocked, even without Muggle appliances, was really quite nice. Sometime during his cooking, Malfoy returned with a rather strange lack of snark. He merely deposited the items, sniffed the air appreciatively, and left again—presumably to work around the farm some more.

Harry had thought that Malfoy would watch him cooking. He was a little disappointed but mostly relieved that he didn’t.

Once he was done, he loaded some trays and levitated the food outside.

Malfoy was lounging on one of the chairs by the pool: he immediately stood up when Harry emerged from the house.

“Potter! You _really_ can cook.”

Harry frowned. “I said that I could.”

Malfoy stepped closer and closer, and he took a deep sniff. His voice lowered. “It smells _really_ good. No one’s cooked anything for me since...since the end of the War.”

Harry swallowed. “It’s your lucky day, Malfoy,” he said lightly. Malfoy trailed next to him as they went to the same place as they’d eaten last week.

For him and Malfoy, Harry had made a light, broth-like soup, followed by a dense curry with rice, finished with a sweet custard. For Calico, Harry had made a platter of meat and fish.

The meal was mostly silent, aside from Harry directing Malfoy on what to eat first. Calico only joined them once they’d finished eating, and they spent a few more silent minutes simply watching Calico.

Malfoy cleared his throat, making Harry look up.

“Potter.”

“That’s my name,” Harry said automatically.

“Let me give you some apples.”

Malfoy said it so seriously that Harry had to blink. “ _Pardon_?”

Then it was Malfoy also looking confused at Harry. “Don’t you like apples? How could anyone not like apples?”

“Yeah, fine, I like apples, but why are you giving me apples?”

Malfoy straightened up. “As an expression of my thanks for providing lunch, of _course_.”

“Right, of course,” Harry rolled his eyes.

Malfoy leaned over to the side a bit and—“Here’s a bag of apples I collected earlier.”

“Bloody hell.” Harry accepted the bag with a grunt. “That’s a lot of apples.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a use for them, Potter,” said Malfoy rather dismissively. He stood up.

Harry stood up too. “I probably will, _Malfoy_.”

“Then it’s not a problem, is it, _Potter_?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“No, not a problem at all, _Malfoy_.” Harry raised his eyebrows back at him.

“Then that is sorted, _Potter_.”

“Why yes it is, _Malfoy_.”

Harry and Malfoy stared at each other. And then, at the exact same moment, they started to laugh.

“Damn you, Malfoy!” Harry said, in-between guffaws.

Malfoy cracked a large grin. “Look at yourself, Potter!”

Calico gave a loud yowl. Both Harry and Malfoy looked at her, and then started laughing some more. Calico meowed at them, and then with her nose in the air, she jumped off the table and stalked away.

“Shit, Potter, Calico’s probably going to the peacocks.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Malfoy admitted. “I never liked my Father’s peacocks.”

“Then you should—you know—accidentally let Calico _do away_ with them,” suggested Harry, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’m sure that’d be animal cruelty, somewhere,” Malfoy groaned. “Do you have to run off anywhere?”

Harry shook his head. “No, what for?”

“It’s nice and warm. Time for that dip in the pool, don’t you think?” Did Malfoy just _wink_?

Harry frowned, and then shook his head. “I didn’t bring my swimming trunks.”

“Pity. Can I seduce you into lounging by the pool instead?”

“You can try to _convince_ me,” Harry shot back, “But lucky for you, those lounge chairs look rather comfy. And it wasn’t _you_ who bought them.”

Malfoy looked sour. “No, it wasn’t,” he grumped. “Come on then, Potter—leave the dishes.”

The outdoor lounge chairs by the pool were large, white, and when Harry laid down on one, absolutely decadent. Each chair had its own table, and Malfoy showed him how to activate the umbrella charm and the cooling charm.

Harry had to roll his eyes when Malfoy got them both a very fruity tea with curly straws, chilled enough that the sides of the glass had cold condensation.

“The only way this could get better if it’s the beach. But I do detest sand,” Malfoy remarked.

“And here I thought there was a spell for everything.” said Harry, glancing at Malfoy sidelong.

“Be quiet, Potter, and listen.”

Harry scoffed under his breath. He let his weight rest back on the chair and closed his eyes.

The most immediate sound he could hear, aside from his breathing, was the water rushing out from the dragon head and splashing into the pool below it. After a while, Harry could make out the slight rush of the wind, and the tinkle of wind charms somewhere. Occasionally, bird chirps and calls played high notes in the air.

The chair was _really_ comfy, and the sun was warm on Harry’s body. So warm that...he could nearly...fall asleep...

Harry startled himself up again, sitting up and taking a drink of the tea. He didn’t think a lot of time past, but Draco Malfoy next to him was _actually asleep_.

Harry looked around them, but the back garden was empty aside from them. Despite himself, Harry’s eyes wandered back to Malfoy, drinking in his profile, noting the frown on his sleeping face, the messy white-blond hair, the solid lines of his body.

Harry cleared his throat and stood up with a loud clatter. Malfoy twitched and woke up.

“Going?” Malfoy’s voice was low and husky. His frown had deepened.

“Yeah. I actually have—well, important things coming up actually. This was my little break before that.”

Malfoy sat up, then stood up with a grunt. “Fancy telling me what those things are?”

Harry picked up his bag of apples to avoid looking at Malfoy stretching. “The charity has a function coming up.” Harry waved a hand over himself. “Boy-Who-Lived, you see. Apparently my appearance boosts donations by over 100 percent.”

Malfoy smirked. “I wish you the very best. Do send me a picture at your most awkward, won’t you?”

“Ha-ha-ha,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I know the way out.”

“Huh. Gryffindors do learn.” Malfoy took a step back and nodded. “I’ll—”

“I’ll see you soon, but probably not next week,” said Harry.

Malfoy shrugged. “Come whenever you wish.”

“Oh my, a Malfoy repeating himself. You must be getting senile.”

Malfoy turned away from Harry with a huff. Harry grinned and went on his way.

:::

Harry was worn out. The various bake sales that the War Orphans charity held—Harry could do them. He _liked_ baking. However, the charity also occasionally hosted auction-style functions in joint with a number of other charities. Hermione insisted on it—to tap into the nations’ richest and wealthiest, who had the most to give. And just like the bake sale, Hermione said that Harry’s appearance was integral.

One the very rare times that Harry didn’t go, the numbers were supposedly smaller in comparison to when he did attend. Harry had an inkling that the sample size was too small, but Hermione just gave him a look, and he acquiesced.

The event hadn’t even happened yet—Harry was just _organising_ components of it, looking over mind-numbing guests lists to give out personal invitations and attending interviews with the various papers and radios to advertise the event.

Harry was drained out when he stumbled out of the Floo, home late on a Friday night. And he opened his muggle fridge, only to find it empty of anything that could be construed as a meal.

Harry groaned and slumped into a chair. With Kreacher off at Hogwarts—at Harry’s own insistence—Harry had to keep up with the grocery shopping on his own. And normally he did, but during busy periods like this, he guiltily wished that he had someone to help him.

For a moment, he debated called takeaway, but with another groan, he stood up, deciding that he should pick up groceries for dinner and for meals on the following days.

He tugged off the robes he’d been wearing and chucked them on the sofa, and shrugged on a plain coat instead. Wand safely transferred over and muggle wallet tucked in his pocket, Harry took a brisk stroll to his local supermarket.

He checked the honey display by habit. Before Luna had opened her honey store, and during the half year that her store was closed whilst she was off around the world, Harry had slowly bought every different type of honey the supermarket had to offer.

Harry smiled wryly to himself now. The supermarket honey might be packaged more nicely, but Malfoy’s honey far surpassed in taste.

Harry stopped and turned his head, frowning. Had he heard his name? A quick scan of the shop showed nothing out of the ordinary. He had an uncomfortable feeling, though, so he quickly went about his shopping.

Harry was standing in the single open checkout line when a hand came down on his arm. He nearly jumped and turned around, ready for the “sorry” and “no worries” that should accompany an accidental touch.

It was a wizard. Despite himself, Harry grimaced.

The man was dressed in muggle clothes, sure, but a Hawaiian shirt paired with a bright yellow jacket and shiny blue disco pants was not a combination Harry ever wanted to see.

“Harry Potter!” said the man with a spark in his eye.

“Yes?” Harry said, shifting away.

The man whipped out a notepad and quill. “Mr Potter, what are you doing here in a muggle venue? Do you feel more in touch with your muggle-born mother?”

“In _touch_ —” Harry’s stomach boiled. “What the _fuck_?” he snapped. “This is a fucking supermarket. A fucking _supermarket_ , and if you don’t know what to do in a supermarket, maybe you should go back to school!” 

The man scowled at Harry. “No need to take that tone with me, Mr Potter. Why, just hours ago, you were entertaining the journalists at the _Daily Prophet_ offices.”

Harry could scream with frustration. He was relieved when the cashier called him up, and he turned his back on the damned journalist.

However, the man tagged behind him as he exited the supermarket—only to be met with a whole _host_ of journalists and flashing cameras. Some of the journalists hadn’t even attempted muggle wear, and the actual muggles were giving both the journalists and Harry distasteful looks. Harry could never show his face here again.

Harry turned back to the first wizard with a growl in his throat. “How the fuck did you find me?”

The man smirked. “Well, Mr Potter, that would be a trade secret. You are a public figure, Mr Potter.”

Harry’s hands clenched tighter on his bag of groceries. He couldn’t walk home like this—they’d find him by deduction, Fidelius or not. Harry tightened his shoulders and walked through the crowd of journalists, roughly bumping into them on purpose.

He headed in the opposite direction of his home—he had no idea where he was going, only that he was looking for some place to apparate from. The witches and wizards followed him like unsavoury flies.

“Mr Potter! Have you been seeing anyone recently?” “Mr Potter! How do you respond to allegations of a threesome between you, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley?!” “Mr Potter—what do you want the most? What do you look for in a witch?”

Harry passed his groceries to one hand and drew his wand. “I want peace and quiet!” he spat out, raising his wand warningly. He should have gone to Malfoy’s place and gotten his groceries there.

The journalists crowded him. _Peace and quiet_ was on his mind as the world turned in apparition.

However, instead of landing in the darkness of his home, he appeared in the shadow of tall gates under a night sky with the bright stars away from London.

“Oh my fucking God and Merlin,” Harry groaned.

The small gate creaked open and who could it be, but Calico, chirping at him.

Harry’s shoulders relaxed. “Hey, Calico,” he sighed. He put down his grocery bags and stroked Calico.

There was a light and the small gate creaked again.

“ _Potter_?”

Harry winced and looked up. “Hey, Malfoy.”

Malfoy raised his wand and its _Lumos_ higher. His eyebrows seemed to be lost in the free fringe of Malfoy’s hair, no longer tied up in a messy bun.

“I apparated here by accident,” Harry blurted out.

Malfoy’s eyebrows descended, and he rolled his eyes. “Come on in then, Potter. We were about to have dinner.”

“Well, I...” Harry glanced back at Calico and her wide eyes and purring noises. “If you don’t mind.” He took his groceries and following Calico and Malfoy inside.

For a manor house, it was an odd room that Malfoy led them to. There was a small dining table, but also a large lounge against the other wall. There was a small fireplace set in the wall between the table and lounge, and Harry noticed piles of books on the small square table on one side of the lounge, and what could only be a pile of cat toys on the other side.

Harry set his groceries against the small square table and joined Calico in the toy corner.

“Make yourself at home,” Malfoy said belatedly. “I’ll fetch dinner.”

Malfoy had made a red pasta accompanied with a cold spiced tea, and Harry wagered he could taste that the herbs came from the Malfoy Manor gardens.

“I really did apparate here by accident,” Harry finally said. Calico was busy eating her dinner and no longer entertaining Harry at all.

“You’re lucky you’re not splinched,” Malfoy replied.

“I didn’t even think of that,” Harry grimaced, “I was trying to escape from the reporters.” He turned his head partway to where his groceries were. “I can’t go to my own local supermarket anymore because of them. It’s such fucking shite.”

Malfoy looked unimpressed. “Potter, you’re a _wizard_. You can apparate nearly anywhere, not least a _local_ supermarket.”

“Yeah, well, if I could _grow_ everything like you do, it really wouldn’t be a problem.”

“You believe that I grow everything. How charming.”

Harry looked at Malfoy, eyes widening. “You _don’t_ grow everything? How could this be?”

Malfoy hummed. “I so do love shattering your dreams.”

Harry grinned. “You’re such a bloody prat.”

“Pot, kettle, Potter.”

Harry frowned, suddenly worried. “It’s fine that I’m here, right?”

Malfoy gave a little sigh. “What do you do with that brain of yours, Potter? Your presence is not unwelcome.”

“I use it to read Quidditch magazines, what else? And did you just say _not unwelcome_?”

Malfoy smirked. “How useless. Allow me to state it so simply that your plebeian mind can comprehend. You are welcome.”

Harry leaned back in his chair. “Thank you very much, kind sir, for that enlightening piece of conversation. I knew you loved my company.”

Malfoy pulled a face. “As a guest, please refrain from insulting your illustrious host.”

Harry burst out laughing. Calico chirped loudly and jumped into his lap. Harry grinned at her and looked back at Malfoy. “Am I your guest, or Calico’s guest, hey?”

Malfoy drawled back, “I believe Calico has deemed dinner finished.”

“Whatever the little hostess says, right?” Harry grinned, petting Calico vigorously. She purred in his lap. Nonetheless, Harry quickly finished off his meal and drained his cup.

Malfoy took all the dishes away, and Harry and Calico moved back to the pile of toys. Harry had only ever seen cat toys from afar before, and he was sure that he was amusing himself as much as Calico by playing with them.

Presently, Malfoy returned. He picked up the topmost book from his pile and sat on the far side of the lounge.

It was under Calico’s direction that Harry also went to curl up on the lounge, Calico in his lap. Harry obligingly petted her.

It was peaceful and quiet.

To be honest, Harry dozed off in the utter comfort of the lounge, the warmth of the room, and the weight of Calico in his lap. He was shaken awake by a hand on his shoulder. The first thing he noticed was that Calico was asleep in his lap.

“I’ve prepared a guest room,” Malfoy said quietly.

Harry blinked blearily at Malfoy. “Um, yeah, if you can.” Harry tried to blink himself awake. He was much more awake when he realised that his groceries were missing.

“Malfoy, where’s my—”

“Under a preservation charm in the guest room,” Malfoy said smoothly. “You have your hands full with Calico.”

Harry stared at him for a bit. “Oh. Okay.” He gathered Calico in his arms and stood up. Calico meowed sleepily and Harry’s heart melted a little more.

Malfoy motioned to him, and he led Harry to a nearby room. With a raised eyebrow, Malfoy pointed out Harry’s groceries, sitting near the door.

“There is an adjoining bathroom through there. Feel free to use anything in these rooms.”

Harry nodded.

“My quarters are across the corridor. Breakfast would be served in the same room as dinner, to make it easier for you.”

Harry nodded again.

Malfoy smiled, and leaned forward and stroked Calico. Calico arched under his hand. “Night, Calico.” Malfoy looked up. “Night, Potter.”

“Harry,” said Harry. “It’s night, Harry.”

Malfoy’s smile widened. “I’ll have you know that my name is Draco, not Harry.”

Harry laughed breathlessly. “Night, Draco.”

“Good night, Harry.”

Malfoy— _Draco_ —gave a short dip of his head, and closed the door behind him.

Harry didn’t even bother with the bathroom. When he slid into the spell-warmed sheets in the bed, with Calico curled on the pillow next to him, he was immediately asleep.

:::

 _I fall asleep here a lot_ was Harry’s first thought when he woke up the next morning, feeling calm and relaxed.

It took a moment longer for Harry to realise that _he was at Draco Malfoy’s house_ , and that Calico was gone and that the sun was shining through an open window and that _Harry had no idea where he was in the manor_.

Trying not to think about it, Harry got up, had a quick shower, and found breakfast laid out as Malfoy had—as _Draco_ had said.

Eventually, Harry was able to wander outside. The bees were buzzing as the flowers opened to the sunlight. Harry purposely walked through the herb garden, breathing in deeply.

It was almost a _feeling_ though, maybe a sound Harry could hear but beyond his comprehension, that led him to the sound of Draco’s voice, and the sound of a group of non-human animals.

He found Draco in a field of sorts beside a barn. He was standing amongst an assortment of sheep and cows and pigs and goats as he handed out feed to them. From the sound of Draco’s voice that Harry could hear, it seemed like Draco was talking to them too. Harry smiled to himself.

Draco spotted him and raised a hand in greeting.

Harry awkwardly raised a hand too, and he went through the wooden gate that surround the barn and the area around it.

“Morning, Draco,” he called out, once he’d gotten sufficiently close and couldn’t wait a moment longer to say the greeting.

“Good morning, Harry,” said Draco. “Come here, you scamp.”

“Are you talking to _me_?” Harry said, even as he did step closer.

“Harry, you are the damn skinniest thing here, of course I’m talking to you!”

Harry frowned. “I’m not...” He tugged his shirt down self-consciously.

Draco sighed and gave Harry a fond smile that made Harry’s heart beat faster. “You’re quite adorable the way you are.”

Harry elegantly ignored him by saying, “Why do you have all these animals?”

“Ah.” Draco petted one of the sheep that came up close to him.

Harry raised his eyebrows at the pathetic tactic.

“I had a plan for _something_ involving these creatures, but it has unfortunately not come to fruition.” Draco cleared his throat. “So now I am stuck with them.”

Harry laughed. “Oh Merlin, really? A _plan_?”

“I keep bees,” Draco replied testily. “And grow plants. I was not clearly thinking quite right when I bought these animals.”

“Milk and wool, I guess?” Harry suggested. “Meat?”

“Not nearly enough to _sell_ ,” Draco retorted with a roll of his eyes. “Here, meet Mutton, Rack, Steak, Milk One, Milk Two, Pork Chop, Ham, Curry, and Stew,” Draco rattled off, pointing out the various sheep, cows, pigs, and goats.

Harry’s eyebrows knotted up as he took a half step away from Draco. “I think maybe there is something not quite right...”

“Do you think I keep them as pets?” asked Draco exasperatedly. “Yes, I’m going to eat them. I’m not turning into a vegetarian.” Draco handed Harry his bucket. “Go on, feed them.”

“They don’t bite, right?” Harry eyed the goat especially. It looked like something that would bite.

“Or you can just pour their feed into their troughs,” said Draco.

“So why didn’t _you_ do that?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “For appearance purposes, of course. Go on, I bet there’s a man-child inside of you who wants to feed all the pitiful animals you can find.”

“I think you’re mistaking me for a Hufflepuff,” Harry said drily.

“Potter, I was referring to your overdeveloped saviour complex,” Draco said flatly. His eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually tamped _down_ on it?” He shook his head. “No, surely not. You work for a charity.”

“Oh, come off it, Malfoy,” said Harry. He grabbed a fistful of feed and held his hand out to the most docile-looking pig. The pig wriggled its snout, but accepted the food. It tickled, actually. Elated, Harry grabbed some more feed, and before long, Harry had gotten over the fear of the goat, too (named either Stew or Curry, Harry couldn’t remember).

When Harry finished, he turned to Draco. Draco was smiling fondly, and Harry beamed back.

“I knew you’d love it,” Draco said, still smiling.

“I did,” Harry admitted.

“Now say goodbye to them, we have more work to do.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco. “I thought I was a guest.”

Draco’s eyes crinkled. “You’re a paying guest.”

Harry quickly handed Draco his bucket back. “Alright, I’m leaving. I did _not_ sign up for this.”

Draco took the bucket, but before Harry could escape, Draco got a heavy arm around Harry’s shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere, Harry Potter,” he said devilishly. He dragged Harry out of the animal’s pen and back towards the herb gardens and put Harry to work watering the entire thing—by using _Aguamenti_ over and over.

“Muggles usually have automatic watering systems,” Harry complained.

“They do, do they?”

“Yeah—” Harry turned to Draco—and accidentally splashed water all over him.

“Pot _ter!_ ” Draco, dripping wet, raised his wand with a smirk.

Suddenly, Harry was also drenched. “Hey!”

“Pay back’s only fair,” Draco said smugly.

“ _Well,_ then. You said it first,” Harry grinned and shot another _Aguamenti_ at Draco.

After that, it was all out _mayhem_ as they darted about the garden, ducking behind chairs and hiding behind trees and statues. Harry was laughing and running around a water fountain when he glanced at the fall and spray of the water. He was immediately delighted.

“Rainbow!” he said, looking around for Draco eagerly. “Hey, Draco! There’s a rainbow!”

Draco cautiously emerged from behind one of the bushes. “Pardon?”

Harry motioned to him. “From here—there’s a rainbow. How long has it been since you’ve seen a rainbow?”

Draco stood next to Harry. He looked at the rainbow, and then turned to Harry, grinning. “Not nearly impressive as _this_.” He pointed his wand to the sky and created a rain around them, so soft that it was nearly a mist. And with the sun behind them, a gentle coloured rainbow emerged.

Harry’s eyes widened. It looked magical (he snorted inwardly), and it was an amazing trick. He turned over to Draco to see what his expression was—something fond, something intense—and then Draco’s body was pressed against his, and Draco’s lips were pressed against his.

Harry’s eyes fluttered closed. His lips parted, and the kiss deepened. Draco’s hands, which Harry had thought about so frequently since they re-met, were so firm and warm on Harry’s body.

When they finally separated, Harry realised that his hands were flat on Draco’s pecs and his wand had dropped to the ground. Harry squeezed his hands a little, searching for the bumps of Draco’s nipples.

Draco rested his forehead on Harry’s and laughed.

Harry crinkled his nose. “I can’t believe you kissed me under a rainbow in a rose garden. That’s unbelievably romantic and sweet of you.”

Draco gave a mock growl. “I’ll show you _sweet!_ ”

Harry immediately ducked down, snatched up his wand and darted away, narrowly missing the burst of water. “Way to break the mood, Draco! Aren’t we meant to be working?” he called out over his shoulder.

“Not until I get you back, Harry Potter!”

Harry laughed. “That’s never going happen!” and launched his own counter-attack under the bright blue sky.

In the end, it was _Harry_ who caught Draco with a burst of water coming from above. Draco was absolutely drenched, his clothes sticking to him like a second skin. As he was blinking and spluttering on Harry’s water attack, Harry tackled him, taking them both down onto the grass.

With his body draped over Draco’s, hands planted on either sides of his face, it was so natural for Harry to dip his head down and kiss him. Draco’s hands rose to caress the sides of Harry’s face, and they kissed and kissed until Harry slumped down, burying his face in Draco’s neck.

Draco rested a hand on Harry’s hair as another stroked up and down, just barely touching where shirt met trousers.

Harry hummed into Draco’s skin, causing Draco to squirm beneath him.

“I think the garden’s all watered now,” Harry murmured.

“Very inefficiently,” Draco muttered.

Harry huffed a laugh. Harry let out a squeak when something foreign touched him, like four little feet—

Draco giggled. “Calico’s decided to have a nap on you.”

Harry craned his neck, but was unable to see her. With a groan, he rested back down on Draco. “Can you get her off?”

“Just a moment.” Draco stopped stroking Harry and retrieved his wand. Something like a blast of warm air washed over them both, drying them off.

Harry wriggled. Now dried, with Draco’s warmth beneath him, the sun’s warmth above him, and the admittedly cute weight of Calico on top of him, Harry felt much more comfortable.

“You know...I wouldn’t mind a nap,” said Harry.

“Have you given any thought to me?” Draco said archly. “Pinned down by the weight of a man and a fully grown cat?”

“Nope. You’re probably heavier than both our weights combined with all that damn muscle, so quit complaining,” said Harry, grinning against Draco’s skin.

Draco gave a huge sigh. “If you insist.”

Harry chuckled. “You’re such a drama wizard. You’d be cooler if you were more gruff and stoic.”

“Only to my enemies.”

“Malfoy! I detest the accusation that we are not arch enemies!”

“We can role-play arch enemies later.”

Harry shuddered. “How was your week?”

Harry was sure Draco rolled his eyes, but Draco dutifully told Harry about how he had put up a new greenhouse for potions ingredients. In turn, Harry told Draco about how his week had gone, and about the reporters.

“I’m sure you can obtain most of your groceries _here_ ,” Draco commented.

“Yeah, but would you accept my money?”

“You can repay me in culinary favours,” Draco replied, as though it were obvious.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Not sexual favours?”

Draco jabbed his hands into Harry’s sides, tickling him. “Those won’t be favours, I assure you.”

Harry squirmed and laughed. “Fine, alright! You’ll wake Calico!”

“Urgh,” said Draco, but he stopped tickling Harry and resumed his petting of Harry. “Still wanting that nap? We have time before lunch.”

“I can’t nap un-spontaneously,” Harry grumped, but he closed his eyes anyway. Except, Draco’s stroking was really relaxing, as was the way his other hand slowly massaged Harry’s head...

:::

After their nap, they made sandwiches and icy fruit juice for lunch, and afterwards Harry taught Draco how to make apple crumble with Draco’s favourite green apples. It was late in the afternoon that Harry waved goodbye to Draco and Calico and went home, for the first time by stepping through from the Malfoy Manor Floo.

He returned with a quarter of the apple crumble (Draco had another quarter and they had consumed half previously), a lot more groceries than he had on Friday, and a stack of culinary I-Owe-Yous.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Ron and Hermione sitting on his sofa.

They stood up immediately, concern and worry etched on their faces.

“Where have you _been?_ ” were Hermione’s first words, even as she helped him with the grocery bags. “We saw the article this morning, but you weren’t here...”

“Mate, we had no idea where you went!” said Ron. “Hey, is that apple crumble?”

“Yeah,” Harry gave Ron the plate. “Have it, if you want.”

“Thanks, mate.”

That left Harry free to help Hermione put away his groceries.

Hermione stopped when she pulled out a muggle supermarket receipt. “These aren’t the groceries from the pictures—from yesterday, are they?” Hermione asked, eyes narrowed.

Harry winced. “Some of them are.”

Ron looked up from his plate. “You never came back home yesterday?”

Hermione’s look turned critical, as she looked him up and down. “You look... _well_. You went outside today!”

Harry smiled widely at them. “Yeah. I sort of apparated to Draco’s on accident. We spent the day outside.”

“ _Harry_!” Hermione gasped. “Are all your parts still there?”

“Hermione, you don’t ask a bloke that,” Ron whined.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I suppose you look fine,” she said to Harry. “Now what’s this about Draco Malfoy?”

Harry felt a soppy look come over his face. Both Hermione’s and Ron’s eyes widened comically.

“Don’t tell me...” said Ron.

“Oh, please tell us!” said Hermione.

Harry recovered enough to tell them about the animal feeding and the water fight and the baking together.

Ron looked at the empty plate in horror. “I just ate something that _Malfoy_ made?”

“ _Me_ and Draco made it, get with the story, Ron,” Harry said.

“You’re not telling us everything,” Hermione said. “It sounds like you had a fun day—”

“—and Malfoy sounds like a decent bloke—” Ron added morosely.

“—but something doesn’t quite add up,” Hermione finished.

“I have a date for the charity function?” Harry hedged.

“Harry,” Hermione said sternly, “Don’t change the subject. I’m glad you finally found a date but—unless— _unless_ —!” Hermione gasped. “You kissed him, didn’t you? It’s Draco Malfoy, isn’t it?”

Ron’s head dropped to the table.

Harry grinned. “Surprise! Actually, he kissed me first. _Then_ I kissed him. And then, I kissed him, and then he kissed me. I’m sure you both know how it goes.” Harry shuddered. “I’ve seen much more of you both then I ever want to.”

Hermione flushed red, but she didn’t back down. “I don’t understand—you _hated_ him. Obsessed over, yes, but _hated_.”

“Hermione, I...That’s sort of between him and me. It’s been years since I hated him. And you’ll meet him at the charity dinner, unless you want to drop by Malfoy Manor before then—which you definitely can, because the gate’s always open.” Harry took a deep breath. “And even if you don’t trust _my_ evaluation of him, if you think it’s—I don’t know, a gay guy thing—well, _Luna_ has dinner with him every week. I trust her.”

“I think I will form my own opinion of him,” Hermione said slowly. “At the charity function.”

Harry relaxed a little. “Okay.”

Ron, head still on the table, said, “You like him, don’t you? You always go for the Quidditch types.”

“I haven’t seen him play Quidditch recently,” Harry protested.

Ron was clearly unconvinced, as he lifted his head from the table and stood up. “Well, we’ve checked up on you.” Ron paused and frowned. “Why are we here, again?”

“Because of the papers,” said Hermione. “Harry, the papers—don’t go blowing them off. Especially this close to the function.”

Harry nodded dutifully. “Alright.”

Ron went over and patted Harry on the back in a brotherly way. “Great. Now don’t forget dinner on Sunday night. It’s going to be a _big_ roast.”

Harry grinned. “It usually is at the Burrow.”

Ron waved a finger. “You can never be quite certain.”

“I’ll see you there,” said Harry, thumping Ron on the back in return.

Hermione looked like she was going to say something, but stopped. Instead, she gave Harry a smile. “Look after yourself. Be happy.”

Harry smiled back at her, more genuinely. “I am.”

Hermione nodded, and she and Ron left.

:::

“Mr Harry Potter, with guest, Mr Draco Malfoy!”

Harry cringed when he was announced as he entered the function hall.

Beside him, Draco raised a challenging eyebrow. Harry rolled his eyes back, and straightened up.

A roar of applause and chatter had gone up in the crowd. At least Harry had come fashionably late: he’d arrived after the pre-dinner mingling, and at this point, the majority of guests had already been seated. Harry nodded to everyone, occasionally giving a wave, but he was very swiftly leading Draco to their front-row table near the stage.

Hermione opened up the event. It consisted of various speeches interspersed through the dinner menu: Harry himself spoke as well. After the speeches, and at the end of the dinner, another one of the staff ran the charity auction.

He and Draco were ‘safe’ until the auction ended, because Harry did know that it was _gauche_ to approach him during the dinner, or when someone on stage was talking.

 _After_ the auction though, the tables were cleared and the guests moved to a different location to mingle. And Harry also had a press-conference to attend. Harry was going to take Draco as support for the press conference, but Hermione inconveniently popped up.

“Draco—can I call you Draco?—I’d like a word with you,” she said.

“I was going to—” Harry sighed dismally. “Alright, you can have him.” 

“Fantastic,” Hermione said.

“Don’t I get a say?” Draco remarked, even as he let himself get pulled away by Hermione. “Break a leg, Potter! That’s what the Muggles say.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at Draco. Bolstering up his public face, Harry went to the press room. He looked straight ahead as the cameras flashed, and said nothing until he sat down behind the table.

“One at a time, please!” he yelled at them. Harry pointed at a reporter at random. “You, you first.” 

The reporter flushed inexplicably. “Mr Potter, thank you! How do you respond to the allegations that you are courting Death Eater Draco Malfoy?” The reporter looked as though they desperately wished this weren’t true.

Harry smirked. “Draco Malfoy is my boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“ _How_? How can you—” 

“Next, please!” Harry said loudly. Inwardly, he gleefully imagined the expressions of fans’ dreams being broken as they realised that he was taken.

That first reporter kept talking, but the next one spoke louder: “Mr Potter, when did you meet Mr Malfoy?”

“First year, of course. Next! Does anyone _actually_ have questions about the charity?” 

The next reporter turned out to be that wizard photographer that had found Harry in the Muggle supermarket. “Mr Potter, there are dozens of more deserving witches—and wizards, if they are more to your liking! Draco Malfoy is merely _using_ your reputation, with evil intentions!”

Harry blinked. “Are you _telling me_ who I should and should not date?”

“Mr Potter, it is very clear—”

“Does _anyone_ have questions about the charity?” Harry shouted, standing up.

The reporters burst into sound, all speaking at once, _Malfoy_ on all their lips.

“You know what?” Harry shouted. “This is what I think of you people trying to police my life.” Harry flipped the bird. “And you know what?” he directed straight to that wizard photographer. “Thanks to all _you_ people chasing me out of town, I was able to find _refuge_ with Draco, so thank you _so_ very much for helping me get together with him! You virtually chased me into his arms, and such lovely arms they are!” Harry winked.

The wizard photographer looked as though he might shit himself.

“And what do I feel about Draco Malfoy?” Harry continued over the uproar. “ _This_.” He made the heart shape with his two hands. “And what do I think about your trashy journalism?” He gave them all the two-fingered salute, and then flipped the bird again for good measure. With a harsh snap of his robes, Harry exited the press room.

He was grinning maliciously when he bumped into Draco and Hermione right outside the press room. “Sorry, Hermione!” he said gleefully. “They didn’t have any questions about the charity.” To Draco, he said, “let’s go home.”

“The manor?” Draco said, eyebrow arched and lip smirking.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Home is where Calico is. Bye, Hermione!”

Harry dragged Draco away before Hermione could say anything, and they Flooed back to Malfoy Manor, Harry laughing all the while.

:::

When Harry emerged for breakfast at Malfoy Manor, he found Draco chuckling over a newspaper in his hand. Draco turned to look at him with a smirk.

“Did you ever plan to tell me about your press conference?”

Harry sat down with a dramatic sigh. “Read all about it in the papers, Malfoy.”

“Pansy told me that some Muggle celebrities are not allowed to have partners, so that their fans can maintain the illusion that they have a chance with them,” said Draco.

Harry shuddered. “I hope I smashed that illusion.”

“Oh yes, with the—” Draco made the love-heart shape with his hands over his heart.

Harry blushed and looked down at his food. “Yeah, with that.”

“What does it mean, _Harry_? Is it a Muggle signal?” Draco asked, sickly-sweet. 

Harry looked away from Draco as he said, “It’s a heart, you bloody prat.” When he looked up, he saw Draco with his chin propped on his hands.

Draco was smirking.

Harry frowned. “What are you smirking at?”

“You.”

Harry rolled his eyes and groaned. He ignored Draco, and quickly ate his breakfast. When Calico came around, Harry continued to blatantly ignore Draco and played with Calico instead.

“Harry...”

“Don’t _Harry_ me.”

“What if I did too?”

Harry looked up. “Did what?”

“If I”—Draco held his hands into the heart-shape—“you back?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Then I’d say you’re obviously lying, because it’s much too early for _that_.”

“A case of the Potter calling the kettle black,” Draco shot back. He stood up. “Come on, time is a-wasting. I have a job for you, Harry.”

“You do?” Calico jumped down from Harry’s lap as he stood up.

“We’re going to the—oh, just follow Calico.”

Indeed, Calico, with a flick of her tail, led the two out into the flower fields. The flower fields had their own separate honey-shed, where Draco quickly ducked in to retrieve a bucket and new frame.

Harry watched with interest as Draco coaxed the bees out, took one of the half-full frames, and re-inserting the new frame.

“Why not the full one?” asked Harry.

Draco talked as followed Calico back into the honey-shed. “I want the bees to keep the bigger store to themselves.” With quick motions, he extracted the honey and very soon it was dripping out from tap and into a jar below.

“I bet I could do that next time,” Harry mused. “If you can do it, it can’t be that hard.”

Draco folded his arms. “I’ll gladly let you try. It would _probably_ sell at half price, or maybe a third. If the price is cheap enough, people will overlook how inferior it is.”

Harry folded his arms too. “ _Or_ I can use it in one of my cakes without telling you first. It’ll be a surprise.”

Draco shuddered. “I fear that day.”

Harry pouted. “You’re such a prat.”

Draco smiled fondly. “I know.”

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. He and Calico shared a knowing look.

“What I _intended_ to show you is this—” Draco closed the tap and picked up the half-full honey jar. He conjured up a spoon and dipped it in. “Come closer.”

“Yeah?” Harry came closer, and so did Draco.

“Now open wide. I want you to lick this like you love it.” Draco smirked and held up the spoon, dripping slowly with honey.

“And if I hate it?” Harry was suspicious.

“Then I’m sure I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

Harry took the final step and let Draco put the spoon in his mouth. He tasted it, then used his lips to take most of the honey off the spoon. And then he moaned.

It tasted mild, and so very sweet. There was this hint of cinnamon and plums. The sweetness lingered in his mouth, and he eagerly leant forward to lick the spoon clean.

Draco was smiling. “How was it?”

“Amazing.” Harry took the spoon from Draco’s hand and the jar from Draco’s hand and had some more. “What kind of honey is this?”

“A light clover honey.”

Harry bent down and let Calico lick some honey off his finger. “How is it, Calico?”

Calico wrinkled her nose and started licking her own fur.

Harry stood up again, laughing. “She doesn’t like it.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “She’s a cat.” He placed a hand on Harry’s hip and kissed him. “Hmm,” Draco murmured, “you’re so sweet, like honey.”

Harry would have face-palmed if he didn’t have glasses. Instead, he groaned. “Are you going to sell it to Luna?”

“Most likely, given your...amazing reception of the honey,” Draco winked. “As for this jar though, perfect for making honey joys, don’t you think?”

Harry snorted. “How perfectly unsubtle of you, Malfoy. Alright, c’mon. I guess we’re making honey joys _again_.”

“It’s not _my_ fault that you make them so small! One bite and they’re gone!” Draco protested.

Harry tilted his head, smirking. “That’s what Ron said, too.”

Draco spluttered, and Harry laughed, not at all accepting the counter arguments Draco was trying to put up. Finally, Harry pulled Draco closer and kissed him to shut him up. It worked like a charm.

_The End._

  


:::

_Extra Scene_

Calico curled up in the warm sunshine, drying her paws from her dip in the duck pond. Her eyes flicked lazily at the sound of humans milling about, and she purred when _her_ human, Draco, gave her a good rubbing down.

She perked up when she heard human noises from her Harry, too. Harry gave her a good petting, every time reminding her what a good decision it was to keep this particular human around as well.

However, Draco and Harry started to press their hairless faces together, and with that, Calico gave an exasperated meow to voice her complaints. She got up and padded off to the other humans. Perhaps she could teach them how to entertain her too. After all, humans were so easily trained and loveable, even if their mating habits were rather peculiar.

Perhaps the little human, the one that smelt of canine. The human youngling was running towards her now, absolutely ready to do her bidding. Calico chirped and jumped. The youngling giggled as she tackled them to the warm, grassy ground. Little fingers ran through her fur and she purred and purred.

Oh, she was _definitely_ keeping _this_ human around too.

  


_The End._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/117286.html).


End file.
